“I’d have done so, had my men been here,” growled the major. “Elizabeth ought to’ve had her servants hold him. I had half a mind to order them, in the King’s name, but I never can bring myself to oppose her, she’s so masterful! By George, though, I’ll have him yet! My two fellows will soon come up. They shall give chase. He will leave tracks in the snow.”
Colden went to the window, and peered out as 257 Peyton himself had done not long before. The flakes were coming down as thick as ever.
“I don’t see my rascals yet!” he muttered. “They’ve stopped at the tavern, I’ll warrant.”
And he continued to gaze eagerly out, impatient that his men should arrive before the new-fallen snow should cover his enemy’s tracks.
Old Mr. Valentine, having exhausted his present stock of mutterings, now walked over to Miss Sally, who had sat down near the spinet.
“Miss Williams,” said he, “this is the first chance I’ve had to speak to you alone in a week.”
“But we’re not alone,” said Miss Sally, motioning her head towards Colden.
“He’s nobody,” contemptuously replied the octogenarian. “A man that damns tobacco is nobody. So you may go ahead and speak out. What’s your answer, ma’am?”
“Oh, Mr. Valentine, not now! You must give me time.”
“That’s what you said before,” he complained.